


A Lost Boys Life

by andrewiel



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 09:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10242062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewiel/pseuds/andrewiel
Summary: Neil doesn't trust the ground to not break underneath him. Andrew helps bring him back into reality by holding him up and taking him apart. (Aka they have sex against a wall. Andrew is really, really strong.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is explicit without being explicit. Or well, I tried. Title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gwJeCRcDeY) by Computer Games!
> 
> Warnings: heavy mention of Neil's father in the beginning, and the slight description of a panic attack. The rest is porn and love and all that good stuff.

Neil knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. Dates used to never hold importance to him because all his days used to be the same - dark and dreadful. The past few years though, every day has been different, important, for its own individual reason.

He remembers the date they beat the Ravens and he remembers the date he first kissed Andrew and he remembers nearly every single date between arriving at Palmetto to now.

He remembers because before his days were numbered, and now those numbers are in the past and he gets to keep going, so he can’t quite get himself to forget.

Andrew told him not to hold on, on that first anniversary, when Neil said, “Hey, I think we met one year ago today.”

“Don’t remind me.”

If Neil can remember, then Andrew has it memorized, so Neil agrees and pretends it’s just another day. As long as they both know it’s really not.

That just won’t work today, nearly halfway through March. Too many things happened on this one day and no matter how hard he tries he can’t leave it in the past. Memories have to be brought out, perused, twisted apart and clicked back together into shapes they don’t belong in.

Of all the things that happened on this date, the one thing Neil still struggles to believe actually happened is the death of his father. His face is the first thing Neil thinks about when he wakes up that day. His presence sticks to Neil’s skin like something weighted and real and still alive.

He goes about his day like two years ago he didn’t almost nearly lose everything, and Andrew goes about his day like two years ago he didn’t almost lose Neil. It’s in the past. It happened but it doesn’t matter anymore because it’s not happening now.

Neil tells himself that in the form of an endless mental chant, and uses his eyes and his smile to say that everything is fine, even though as the seconds pass deeper into the day his grip on reality loosens.

It all breaks at lunch, just when they’re entering the restaurant. One they’ve been to a thousand times before, one he knows with familiar faces in every corner.

Then, in the break of a crowd, he sees that face that’s been haunting his memories. A face that looks like his own.

Neil sees his father sitting across the restaurant sipping at a coffee, and Neil stops abruptly, causing Andrew to walk right into him. If Andrew notices anything is wrong, he doesn’t show it, and puts a hand on Neil’s back to get him walking again.

The cousins and Kevin are seated at a booth, Neil the last one to move in. He has to scream at himself to move, to not look back across the restaurant at a man who is supposed to be dead. When he sits, he realizes he’s shaking, his trembling thighs hidden from view under the table.

Andrew’s sitting right next to him, so he notices, he must notice.

Neil’s panic is a fire that quickly takes over his entire body. It can’t be real. There’s no way it can be real. Two years ago today he saw his father die so there is no way he can be sitting in this very restaurant.

Neil defies himself and looks in the direction of the ghost, stares and blinks and stares some more, and it’s only after a few long moments that the face he’s staring at stares back.

The man, all at once, frowns, and breaks the illusion that Neil’s brain was supplying.

It’s not his father. His father is dead.

But panic has taken over already, and refuses to let clarity go, holding onto that image of that face and blurring reality so much that Neil can’t even look at his own hand and convince himself it’s real.

“Andrew,” he says, dark and low, only for Andrew to hear.

Andrew knows exactly what date this is, and he must know exactly what Neil’s thinking, what Neil thought he saw, because he doesn’t even turn to face him and whispers back, “Stop it. You’re letting your imagination own you.”

“I can’t.”

Hidden away from everyone else at the table, Neil moves a shaking hand to Andrew’s space, needing to grab onto the one thing that he knows is real. Andrew stops him, by reaching back for him, curling his fist into the material of Neil’s sweater at his back.

It’s not enough. Neil feels Andrew’s hand and wants to believe it but he can’t breathe, everything in his mind is a flash of a face he never wants to see again but suddenly sees everywhere.

“We’re leaving,” Andrew suddenly declares, pushing at Neil to stand, then promptly sliding out behind him.

They’re instantly met with wide eyes and loud protests. “What?” Nicky shouts, looking around their group. “How are we supposed to get back?”

Andrew’s already guiding Neil out and away. “You have feet.”

Once they’re in the car, Neil forces his breath out, has to hear it. It’s the loudest thing in the world, desperate and gasping, and the only reason he keeps fighting for it is because Andrew is expecting him to.

“It’s over,” Andrew says, not so much a reminder but a rule.

Neil nods, and chokes out another breath. “Help me get back to reality.”

He expects Andrew to put a hand on him, to tell him to stop being ridiculous, to count to ten with him as many times as Neil needs to count to ten. Instead Andrew says nothing, turns his attention to the steering wheel and the road ahead of them, and drives them home.

Once they’re home and out of the car Andrew’s hand is quick to find Neil, taking its place at his back again. His grip is tighter this time, more tense, more there.

It has the opposite effect of what Andrew wants, because Neil’s knees buckle underneath it, desperate to lean into him and onto him because that one hand is not enough.

Neil’s urgency is radiating off him, in every breath and blink of his eyes, so tangible you could almost smell it. In the mess of the moment, as soon as their front door opens and he’s pushed inside, he forgets about their unspoken agreement and expects Andrew to pin him against the closed door and help him there.

Andrew doesn’t. “Wash up,” he instructs, guiding Neil right to the bathroom door.

If they’re not in the right state of mind, then a yes is always a no. If either feel panicked, fearful, tipsy, desperate, then they have to wait until their decisions aren’t being controlled by something else.

Neil stands in the bathroom shaking, and knows it’s for the best. He’d do anything right now just to get Andrew’s hands on him. The heat and the water and the feeling of being clean helps, bringing him closer to the ground, but right now he doesn’t trust the ground to hold him up.

Feeling slightly more calm and less shaky, he wraps a towel around his hips and makes his way to their bedroom. Andrew is inside the door waiting, taking the first second he sees Neil as an opportunity to back him up into the wall, slamming the door closed with an impatient hand.

Andrew hooks his fingers into the edge of the towel, the heat of him against Neil’s skin hotter than the shower. He doesn’t pull it off, but gives it a short tug, keeping his eyes downcast. “Still need my help?”

“Still want to give it?” Neil asks, smiling almost teasingly at the look Andrew gives him, and brings his hands up to tug at Andrew’s hair.

Andrew takes that however he takes that, and responds by pushing his own hips right against Neil’s, hard enough that the wall makes a noise from the sudden impact of two bodies. Both of Andrew’s hands have dug into the towel, waiting for permission, and Neil tightens his hold on Andrew’s hair and whimpers out, “Yes.”

It’s too breathy and too desperate, Neil knows, and knows Andrew won’t accept it, so he says it again and again, more loud and more clear until finally the towel is being pulled off and Andrew’s hands are everywhere.

He’s not sure why he even thought it, why he even vocalized it, but one day some time ago he joked about getting the word tattooed on him. In a place only Andrew would ever see, so Andrew would always know.

Andrew responded to that idea with a bored look and a simple, _‘You have no room left on your body for unnecessary scars.’_

Neil still isn’t sure what to make of that.

Instead of wondering about that, he focuses on this, on Andrew’s hands and Andrew’s grip and the precision he works with to open Neil up. Nothing about Andrew is ever slow, but he is careful, in a way that Neil knows if he ever hurt Neil then he would forever hate himself. It doesn’t hurt, but it does sting, but he wants it to.

It’s a reminder, that Andrew’s real, that he’s Neil’s, that Neil is his.

Even more of a reminder is the way Andrew hoists Neil up, like he doesn’t weigh a thing. His back is being pressed hard into the wall and his stomach swoops at the sudden sensation of being held up off the ground, but he doesn’t reach out for purchase, because he knows he’s safe exactly where he is.

Andrew’s only got his zipper down and his jeans hitched lower, but that’s all Neil needs anyway. He slides into Neil and the rest of Neil’s mind shuts down, quickly reorganizing itself so that everything else stops existing and Andrew is the only thing left.

It’s not gentle, it’s not slow, it’s rough and fast right from the get go. Andrew rocks up and with every thrust sends Neil higher and higher, and further and further, and closer and closer. Neil holds onto every movement, and clutches hard at Andrew as he’s rocked off the edge.

This is what he needs. When the ground is shaking and nothing seems stable, he needs to be held up by something stronger than the very earth he walks on. Something that can never break, no matter the pressure. Something to move him and control him but never, ever hurt him.

It’s only ever Andrew.

Neil wraps his arms around the back of Andrew’s head and urges his face closer, but doesn’t kiss him, because he doesn’t have the brain cells to compute the movements necessary to get his lips to his. Instead he settles for breathing raggedly at Andrew’s ear.

He’ll have bruises under his thighs later, from how hard Andrew is digging his fingers into him to hold him up.

All he has to do is stay still and let it happen, let Andrew fuck him, but even so he’s breathless and weak. He’ll never trust the ground again. His shoulders hurt from the continuous smack against the wall, but there’s no way he could ever focus on something like pain when he’s being filled by Andrew. That stretch and that feeling and that neverending wave of Andrew inside of him is all that Neil is attuned to.

The only part of Andrew that moves are his hips, his endless thrusts up into Neil. Andrew is short; he isn’t small. Nothing else moves, nothing else shakes, not even Andrew’s chest. Andrew breathes like he isn’t holding up a body, like he isn’t even lifting a pinky.

Neil lets his hands roam the expanse of Andrew’s arms and shoulders, waiting for his skin to splinter like cheap plastic.

It never happens. It never will.

But Neil still has the presence of mind to pull himself out of this trance, his thoughts frantic enough to move through thick, heavy mud. “Your arms,” he says, not able to explain what he means with his words, so he presses his hands into Andrew’s hardened muscles, twisting and shifting from constant exertion.

Andrew shuts him up up with a kiss, harsh and biting, Neil’s lips caught between sharp teeth.

They can’t keep kissing, not if they want to taste blood. Andrew is fucking him too fast, too hard, knocking Neil’s head back against the wall with every thrust. So they settle for keeping their mouths against each other, sharing each other’s breath. Neil’s is erratic. Andrew’s is almost non-existent.

It feels like he’s about to fall, and he trusts that he won’t, knows that no matter how much stress Andrew puts his arms through he will never drop Neil, but it isn’t what Neil needs anymore.

“Andrew -” he gasps, pulling harsh at Andrew’s hair to get him to stop.

Andrew immediately stills, fingers digging in tight. “Do you want down?”

“No.” He can barely breathe, so he thinks he says no, he thinks he says it outloud, but he can’t be sure. Everything is ringing, screaming, it’s all on fire and he’s burning and he doesn’t want to be put out.

Words don’t make sense. Andrew waits until they do. “I don’t read minds. What do you want?”

Neil looks at their bed, and tries to make sense. “I want you _on._ ”

Nothing in Andrew shifts except for his arms, which, after a moment, lower him to the ground. Neil can’t walk, can’t take a single step, the floor uneven and the whole world tilting as he tries to move, so Andrew loops his arms around his waist and guides him to the bed.

Then it’s back to motion and closeness, and Andrew is back inside of him and overtop of him and somehow this is better than being held up by nothing but Andrew’s strength. This is the world beneath both of them and Andrew keeping him pinned to it.

He wasn’t aware just how far back he could bend until Andrew pushes him to, his knees up by his head as Andrew thrusts in. It feels like he’s everywhere, even when he’s not. Andrew doesn’t tease, Andrew gives what he says he’ll give and doesn’t dare back off unless he thinks Neil needs him to.

It’s relentless, heavy, hard, filling him up so much Neil doesn’t have space inside him to think. Doesn’t have a spare breath to remember or recall or relive. It’s just this. It’s just Andrew pushing his world back together with every inch of his body.

Finally, he feels the first sign that this is taking something out of Andrew when Andrew lets out a short, gasping breath against Neil’s cheek. That’s the last piece Neil needed, and he lets it all go and take over, and loses himself in the reality of Andrew.

His hands find their way to Andrew’s back, scratching and scrabbling at his shirt. He buries his face against the heated skin of Andrew’s neck and lets his breath run ragged there.

Everything in the world is Andrew, from the shifting muscles under Neil’s hands to the demanding and insistent push of his cock, deeper and deeper inside Neil with every thrust. How could he ever forget? Why did he think of this world as unreal, if even for a second, when Andrew was right there?

When Andrew always will be.

It’s getting harder to keep himself contained. It’s never this drawn out and vigorous, usually over within minutes because both are aware it’ll happen again soon. He doesn’t want to come though, he wants this to keep going and going until his breath becomes Andrew’s.

Andrew can sense his struggle, can hear his whines, so he stops and pushes Neil away from his neck and back onto the pillows.

“When I get you off, do you want me to keep going?”

He’s saying words. Neil can see his mouth moving but he can’t quite process what Andrew’s saying, but he nods anyways and reaches out to pull Andrew closer.

Andrew bats his hand away. There’s a piece of hair in his face, and his cheeks are slightly flushed, but other than there he wears no sign of exhaustion, of desire.

“Look at me,” Andrew orders, and the slightest sliver of caution in his voice has Neil’s head spinning back to awareness. Andrew threads their fingers together with one hand, holding on tight, squeezing, giving Neil time to think.

“Yes,” Neil says, staring at their conjoined hands. “Keep going.”

Andrew sets to that task like his life depends on it, and has Neil flat on his back and his ankles above his head and their fingers still entwined as he fills in his blank lines with colour, fills him in deep.

When Neil does come, it’s an almost insignificant moment, one of fleeting pleasure and desperate pants for air and then it’s over and back to rocking, to thrusting, to the entire room silent save for Neil’s scattered whines and Andrew’s rare groan and the bed shaking underneath them.

If he thought he found the footing he needed before, it has nothing on this.

The whole world is upside down. He’s being fucked against a surface but he can’t feel what’s supporting him, can’t tell the ceiling from the floor or the wall from the door. Colours invert themselves and flash before his eyes.

The one thing that makes sense in all this chaos is Andrew. Unrelenting and strong and there even when Neil shuts his eyes. Real.

Neil finds his place against Andrew’s neck and feels Andrew’s hammering pulse. Real.

But there’s no possible way Andrew can be real with how fast he’s still moving, an endless supply of energy from somewhere. Like he’s fighting his own body to not come, like he’d punish himself if he did.

Eventually though, his thrusts slow, until they’re simple jerks, until his own hands are shaking where they hold Neil’s. Neil knows he’s about to snap when he nips harsh at Neil’s lip, to stop himself from making noises.

Neil guides him forward and through it, pulling him closer and wrapping his legs around him, until all Andrew can do is let go and come.

Reminder after reminder after reminder, all pushed into Neil until Neil can only hear and feel Andrew.

All that exists of this date is this moment, when Andrew gently lowers Neil’s legs down and pulls out.

Andrew never lingers, Andrew leaves, as if he were never there. But he was. Neil will feel the reminder of where exactly Andrew was for days to come.

Neil sits up when Andrew pulls him upright, and lets Andrew begin his inspection, looking for bruises or marks that he didn’t mean to leave.

All Neil wants to do is pull him down and fall asleep, but it’s never that easy.

Andrew uses Neil’s discarded towel to clean him up, then promptly turns away and sits with his back to Neil.

It’s been trial and error, figuring out where he’s allowed to be and how much space Andrew wants afterwards. He pulls the ruined sheets around him and moves closer, hesitantly, until he’s right at Andrew’s side.

Andrew doesn’t look back at him, but he doesn’t make him move. “Are you back in reality yet?”

Neil rests his chin on Andrew’s shoulder, closing his eyes when Andrew lets him stay.

“With you?” he asks, almost dreamily, still trying to find his voice through the roughness of his throat. “Always.”

There’s a twitch to Andrew’s mouth, a considering look to his eye, and he finally shifts a little closer and more towards Neil. “You should have remembered that before I made it so you can’t walk for a week straight.”

Neil smiles. “I should have, shouldn’t I?”

Andrew says nothing, but accepts the kiss that Neil gives, Neil struggling the slightest bit to lean that much closer.

He’ll feel it for days, but only they will ever know, and only they will ever remember. Whatever else happened on this date, years from now, when he looks back on this number, he’ll think of this.

And, hopefully, nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments or kudos would be superduper appreciated! ♥ Please hit me up with prompts or ideas or anything [here](http://andrewiel.tumblr.com/ask) as well!
> 
> [Here](https://andrewiel.tumblr.com/post/158360747831/summary-neil-doesnt-trust-the-ground-to-not) it is on Tumblr if you wish to reblog!


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